This is a message to myself it appears, because I keep putting off the writing I say I want to do so desperately. So perhaps if I publish this little post about why I’ve been afraid to write it’ll spark that fire under my ass and get my fingers moving.
For as long as I can recall I have been a storyteller, a writer, a dreamer. To an almost hopeless extent, I have marvelled in awe at the way that stories bring people together, and often pull people apart. Stories are at the very essence of existence and that has perpetually fascinated me.
I’ve told stories, always. But I’ve found that my stories have the most impact when they’re written down. Perhaps one of those weird skills some people just have…
Once I understood how books could house my stories, and the magic they hold, I wanted to create my own. I’ve dreamed of being an author, of being a writer, a storyteller, since pretty much forever.
I think perhaps in another universe, or alternate dimension, I wrote with such magnificence that entire worlds were conjured before my very eyes. My words have had the power to shift reality, conquer darkness and pierce the souls of those who come across my stories.
Now that I pen these words, I wonder if my fear about writing, in my present reality, has stemmed not from a fear of failure, but from a fear of greatness. A fear of the potential I know I hold within me. A fear that I don’t have what it takes to harness that power and conjure up the worlds I hold in my heart, the worlds I long to share with others.
It becomes laughable really, when you finally write your fears down on a piece of paper. They suddenly seem smaller, more easily tamed. Fear is funny that way. Its power is not in its ability to tell you the truth, but in its ability to convince you that true or false, you are incapable of conquering the fear at all. And then you write it down and all its power is stripped.
I can now see it for what it is. And unconvincing attempt to hold me back from my dreams, from what I know I want to do with my life. A trick in the brain, a flicker of doubt in the heart. Yet, why would I doubt myself? Why would I look into my own being, my own heart, my own dreams and think I could ever easily contain all that I see there?
I want to be a writer. I want to be a published author. I want to wield magic with my words. I want to break hearts and mend them in a single page page. I want so terribly, so deeply, to share my stories.
So, (now this is a firm pep talk to myself)…
Start writing. It will fall together as you go along. Let go of your simple fears.
And just write.